


Halcyon

by elecktera



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Morgan is a big ol' softie, Bisexual Arthur Morgan, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Gay John Marston, Hurt John Marston, I have no excuses this is purely self-indulgence, I really love writing from John's POV it fills a void, Love Confessions, M/M, Protective Arthur Morgan, Young Arthur Morgan, Young John Marston
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25911997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elecktera/pseuds/elecktera
Summary: Halcyon:Denoting a period of time in the past that was idyllically happy and peaceful.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Halcyon

**Author's Note:**

> I have been going through a major writer's block recently so any feedback or suggestions would be greatly appreciated!!

_Cold_. It was cold, freezing even, and yet John was warm. 

Here, wrapped up in Arthur’s sturdy arms accompanied by a scent so distinctly _Arthur_ \- soil, heady and dampened by rain. Leather oil from hours spent atop his beloved Bo’ and a smokey sweet campfire - John was warm. 

The plains were always a nasty thing in the winter, but for all John’s bitching, he was at least grateful to not be shacking up in the mountains. The Callenders had spent plenty of winters up near Montana, said their piss would freeze ‘fore it even touched the ground. 

It’s some ungodly hour, the howl of the blizzard and the wolves alike lulling them into an unspoken calm. They’d started sharing a cot about a month ago when the nights got too bitter to sleep alone. They were careful, always so goddamn careful. Getting close, but not _too_ close - too scared to venture past their unspoken boundary. 

Something between them changed. Belligerence turned into admiration. Scowls into fleeting glances and delicate longing. 

Recently, they’d begun huddling together after dark, limbs tangling in the night, playing it off as a need rather than the aching desire that linked them together. Air so charged with tension and _want_ , so palpable you could cut it with a knife. They didn’t talk about it, didn’t feel like anything needed to be said. But here, right now, their eyes were locked, both of them too damned stubborn to look away. 

Arthur had an arm slung around John’s waist tracing over a threadbare union suit, featherlight. John’s rested on Arthur’s chest, fingers finding purchase on his collar fidgeting with it every-so-often. 

Arthur was the first to break the silence; voice sleep-laden and sticky-sweet, “Hey.” 

“Hi, Art,” Felt like they were seeing each other for the first time. So raw, so _terrifying_. 

Feelings were dangerous, ‘specially living life the way they did. Fleeting in hues of copper and crimson, moving so fast even Arthur, who had lived this way most of his life, struggled to keep up.

Even Dutch; who had put guns in their hands and food in their bellies - a man with a dream so pure, so beautiful and burdened with love - for Annabelle, for Hosea, for his sons. Even he warned them of the travesties of devotion. 

But Arthur, well Arthur was… 

He was safe, he was home. For all the man’s hellfire, Arthur was _good_ , so good. 

Their faces were near inches apart, so close it wouldn’t take much less for their lips to be touching. And _god_ , John wanted to kiss him. 

Felt like this had been simmering for too long, getting hot enough to boil over, sizzling as it trickled over the side. 

He shifted closer and he could feel Arthurs breath ghosting over his cheek. Eyes widened, heartbeat so wild you could see it in the lines of his throat. 

“Is- uh, this okay?” John whispered his lips just about brushing over Arthurs. 

“Gon’ kiss me or jus’ stare, Johnny?” Huh. Amusement. 

Somehow the distance between them closed. Couldn’t tell who had leaned forward first, not as if it mattered now anyway. 

Lips met reverently, brows pinched, eyes fluttering shut. 

It felt like fire under John’s skin, red-hot, and _burning_. Like his soul had finally been returned to the water, every part of him that was once dead had the breath of life once more. It was slow and gentle, their lips finding each other’s hurt and licking it away in tender sweeps. 

Arthur’s fingers made their way up to grasp John’s chin, pulling him impossibly close. Tongues met sweetly drawing a broken mewl out of one of them. _Oh_ \- it was Arthur. Arthur who wanted this- who _needed_ this just as much as John did. 

They broke apart, Arthur swooping down to dote kisses along John’s jaw. 

John sniggered softly, “Should’a done that a lot sooner,” voice breathy and a pitch higher than normal. 

“Mhm,” a kiss to his cheek, to the corner of his mouth, the bridge of his nose. 

And if heaven was real, it was here. Both lost completely in the languid way they touched, moved with one another in tandem - like they were made for this, for each other. And Arthur’s fingers were dipped in gold leaving trails of goosebumps where they met John’s skin. 

John slid a slender calf between Arthur’s legs, “...We gon’ talk ‘bout this?” 

“Watchu’ want me to say, Johnny?”

Oh. _Oh-_

And John reeled back, dipped his head, shut his eyes under the crushing weight of it all. O’course this was a once-off. Why would _Arthur_ want- want-. The thought nearly tore his heart in two. Tears pricked at his eyes and he loathed himself for it. God, why had he been so _stupid_? 

Arthur sucked at his teeth, “Hey darlin’,” fingers returning to John’s chin, arm reaching out for him, “Hey now. Don’t mean it like that. Jus’ thought how I felt was- I dunno,” A stretched beat of silence. “S’pose I uh- I care ‘boutchu ‘lot, John.”

Arthur met John’s eyes once more, his expression so sincere, so damned _fond_ , it made John’s jaw ache. 

“Yeah?” John’s voice cracking on it. 

“Yeah, Johnny,” And Arthur looked downright _nervous_. And John, frustrated with himself, surged forward and caught Arthur in another kiss. 

It was desperate, fervent even. Tasted intoxicatingly like stale coffee and tobacco. Like sap and the sweets that Annabelle had splurged on for them, they’d been rationing since autumn. Arthur moved a hand to the back of John’s neck, thumbing the pinkish scar adorning his neck. Fumbling their way until Arthur was leaning over John, his hands caging him in, their lips never leaving each other for very long. And John _knew_. 

John wasn’t sure ‘bout a lot of things. Not of Dutch, not of himself, but- but _this_ . This was easy- god it was easy. To slip, to fall, to trust Arthur so blindly. To give, and give, and _give._ He knew. Everything that made John, it belonged to Arthur. And that was okay, that was easy, it was- 

He wanted to feel dumb for ever doubting Arthur, but he couldn’t. Not as Arthur’s lips brushed tantalizingly sweet over his own, not with Arthur’s hand at his throat; heady, overwhelming, but so _right_. 

John gasped against Arthur’s lips, his chest burning. He didn’t want to stop. Not now, not ever. Now that he had this… How could he? And goddamn- _goddamn,_ if it didn’t make John feel like he was the richest man in the world. And he was for all he was concerned. For Arthur was gold; he was Bessie’s favorite pair of pearl earrings, the rubies embossing Dutch’s rings, the blued steel of John’s carbine. The same carbine _Arthur_ had gifted him.

He was all of that and yet he was so much more. 

Arthur broke the kiss, John chasing after his lips like a madman starved. Arthur pressed him flush and vulnerable against the ground, keeping them impossibly suspended, “Should’a known you’d be selfish in bed.”

“Asshole,” John grumbled, smiling all the while. 

Arthur hummed, “Maybe,” shuffled down to rest his head on John’s chest. 

Easy. 

All of it, all of Arthur. 

“Care ‘bout you too, Art. Y’know… in uh- in _that_ way too,” John grimaced, he had never been very el- eloquent, “Have for a long while,” _maybe forever._

Arthur sucked in a breath, sharp and heavy, “Ain’t you a romantic,” John scowled, “Like yer any better.” 

And Arthur laughed, quiet, tired, but John could feel it against him. Warm and familiar-like. 

This was _good_ . The feeling of being wrapped up in someone else. Arthur’s breathing shifted, steady, and slow. And John beamed. Arthur, who was wound up, who slept light, a finger on the handle of the hunting knife he kept beneath his bedroll. Arthur, who _trusted_ John. 

And soon, with all the warmth swirling and pooling in his belly, he too fell asleep. 

Finding halcyon. 

But it was wrong. So wrong. Something ached in John’s chest, blackness clouding his vision and clawing wildly down his throat. He heard gunshots, tasted blood, thick and unbearable. He shot up, breath short and, and- god he couldn’t breathe. 

_Fuck._

Where was…? Oh. 

Arthur was- And suddenly he felt sick. Oh god. Arthur had died _seven years ago_ , Arthur was- was dead. 

And John, well John was- He wasn’t. Wasn’t _dead_ , despite his best efforts. But he was a coward, ‘least without Arthur there. 

And it was cold, and John was freezing. Winter was just as bad as it was then, harsh and unforgiving and it made John feel so achingly human. 

He stumbled out of his tent, shirtless, into the snow. Searching for the bite, the searing burn, and he looked to the sky, smiling despite himself. 

Halcyon found.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and for dealing with the mediocracy <3


End file.
